


To Trial

by LiteraryMotions (BiblioMatsuri)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gen, POV Original Female Character, Peer Pressure, Rites of Passage, Rituals, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2734556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiblioMatsuri/pseuds/LiteraryMotions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If her hands shook, it was only from the cold.</p><p>(Originally written October 17th, 2014 for a creative writing class.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Trial

Kyra clutched at the sleeves of her thin robe, shivering at the feel of ice-cold water pouring over her. Technically, she wasn't supposed to move at all until this was over. Less technically, shivering was a reflex. That was her story and she was sticking to it.

Traditionally, everyone involved in the ritual was anonymous, nameless and faceless in tar-black disciples' robes. Even so, Kyra could hear the clipped-off vowels of Initiate Marlie's accent and the odd shuffle from Initiate Robbin's bad leg.

In her plain gray novice's robe, with her hood pulled up and a black wedding veil over her face, Kyra doubted any of the women chanting the rite of purification could tell who she was. She was tall for a girl, but so was Edna three beds over. Her boyish build could have belonged to almost any of this year's novices ...including some of the boys. Even the single long braid novices were permitted to grow, peeking out from under her veil, was just a sand-brown tangle.

Water trickled from the end of her braid, catching on her black cloth belt.

The black-robes started chanting. “With water from the purest spring, you have been cleansed of the folly of your youth. With the tears of the Reclaimer, you will be reborn. Do you take oath?”

“Yes. I who have been made anew do accept the Reclaimer's will...” She knew the words by heart. They flowed as easily as if she were only climbing the stairs to the Outer Temple like she did every sevenday, as if she was only saying the morning prayer.

She was not scared. Even if her hands shook, it was only from the cold.

One of the black-robes stepped forward, hand outstretched. Kyra was supposed to reach for their hand but not touch, to pull back at the last second. She would step back and the other initiates will push her until she reaches the door to the Hall of Trials at which point-

Gentle hands pushed at her back. She wanted to scream.

"Come.”

Helplessly, she allowed herself to be shoved forward. Her bare feet flinched from the smooth, cold cobblestones. She couldn't see clearly through the veil, not with only moonlight coming in, but she knew that _there_ was the portrait of Journeyer Ameldine and _that_ alcove hid a statue of Initiate Rosewood and _there_ -

She shivered at the feel of cold hands on her back, sliding against her damp gray robe.

There was the Hall of Trials, separated from the rest of the Outer Temple by a curtain of multicolored beads. It was the only color permitted here – a sign of the awful, the sacred, the greater-than-human. Those who entered the Hall of Trials were trespassers in a god's domain.

She would not scream.

She only had to stay silent for half the night, just until daybreak, just until dawn. It was no different than sitting vigil with the other novices. Except that the normal vigil happened in the hallway outside their rooms. And there were lanterns, and candles for the older girls, warm firelight to cut the cold. Even though it was technically forbidden, the nuns turned a blind eye to the novices talking amongst themselves, joking and gossiping and splitting the night with the color of their words.

It wasn't any scarier than climbing a tree – the kind of scary that came with heat and motion and the rough bark catching on her sandal-straps. She hadn't fallen then.

She stood at the threshold, fingers winding up the ends of her long sleeves.

She could still go back. She didn't need to go in there and risk life and sanity to the Reclaimer's whims.

Her throat dry, Kyra pushed the curtain aside and stepped forward.


End file.
